


What To Do With Unwanted Guests

by lazarwolff



Series: Witchy Hermann [5]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Arguing, Gaslighting, M/M, Marriage, References to Abuse, Trans Male Character, Trans Newton Geiszler, Uprising Fix-It, Witchy Hermann Gottlieb, seances, the precursors manifest as toxic masculinity, true love a strong marriage and magic break precursor control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 01:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18768868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarwolff/pseuds/lazarwolff
Summary: The altar on the dresser had been overturned, and Hermann found the offerings and spells in the dustbin. With a little sigh, he put it to rights as much as he could and added an extra spell for protection, and a small apology to the spirits, who seemed hesitant to come in the room.-He’s not himself-The cooling, the distance must have all been this outside force. Hermann found it easier to believe, more palatable than the alternative. It was no good to feed that intent, even if it were safer. And Hermann had recently acquired a taste for risk-taking.Newt is under Precursor control. Luckily for him, the Gottlieb-Geiszler household, and the world on which it sits, Hermann is magic.





	What To Do With Unwanted Guests

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skeleton_twins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeleton_twins/gifts).



_ The witch is going to be a problem. _

_ Hey! That’s my HUSBAND you’re talking about... _

_ Shut up and be still. In addition to being drift bonded to the host, the sheer amount of work we do to negate the effect of his influence is detrimental to our overall efforts. _

_ You know, my third-grade teacher could have told you telling me to shut up and be still doesn’t actually work… ouch. _

_ Perhaps she should have resorted to the way of pain. _

_ Gawd! Edgelords! Why’d I get possessed by edge- _

_ Enough. The host requires recalibration. _

* * *

 

Newt blinked and looked at Hermann like he’d been away for a long time. They were sitting quietly in bed, Hermann reading a book and Newt mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

“Where were you?” Hermann asked.

“Hmm,” Newt said, and kissed Hermann. “Thinking ‘bout kaiju taxonomy.”

“Trying to fall asleep, are we?”

“It’d be nice.”

“Would you like me to do something?” Hermann asked, hand stroking Newt’s temple and already buzzing with magic. Newt shook his head, moved his head away from Hermann’s touch.

“I think I can manage by myself.”

“A spell for the dreams, then.”

“No, Hermann, I’m not  _ five.  _ I can deal with a bad dream or two,” Newt snapped. Hermann’s lips thinned.

“It’s more than one or two. Since you started this job, you’ve been having them every night. It’s beginning to affect my sleep.”

“Yeah, the job stresses me out, okay? And my stupid brain overreacts! I’m sorry it’s cutting into your beauty sleep. I can take the spare room if it’s really such a fucking inconvenience.”

“My concern doesn’t warrant that kind of talk,” Hermann said, after a long silence. Newt’s face fell.

“I don’t know why I said that.”

“You decided instead of taking my help, I would be of more use to you as someone to yell at,” Hermann said calmly. “Or am I missing something?”

Newt opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again with a shake of his head.

“I know how much you like to be right. God knows it kills you to be wrong. Anything I say will just prove it for you,” he muttered. “So I’ll be in the spare room.”

“Of course you will. That’s what you wanted in the first place.”

Newt didn’t slam the door, but Hermann could hear him mutter in the spare room, aggravated voice rising and falling. Determined to ignore him while he was in this ugly mood, Hermann turned on his radio and lay down in bed, trying to force the knot in his throat down while Beethoven played.

Their arguments had been this way lately- Newt thoughtlessly parrying any real discussion and ultimately aiming to hurt. And then Hermann was forced to a certain distance, so Newt wouldn’t so easily puncture. Even during their worst fights from before, there had been a thrill and tacit respect of each other’s point of view. Now Hermann dreaded any sort of charged discussion between them, about even the most marginal topic because he was afraid it would spin out.

His consternation was fiddling with the radio, and it was now on a channel, blank save for static. Hermann sighed and reached over to switch it back to classical when he distinctly heard a voice through the white noise.

“Something’s wrong.”

* * *

 

Newt couldn’t sleep. Years of sharing Hermann’s bed meant anything else was borderline unsettling. When they were on trips, they could call at least, hear each other’s voice before drifting off. But he’d left of his own accord. Coming back to the master bedroom would mean admitting Hermann  _ won,  _ and that--

Won what? Why had they been fighting?

\-- And that was something he wouldn’t ever do.

“Why’s he gotta ask, every time?” he muttered into the pillow. “‘Hey Newt, see you’re still screaming in your sleep, think you could uhhhh keep it down? Or should I cast a spell on you so I can get some peace and quiet  _ for once? _ ’”

His brain was fuzzy, more than usual because of interrupted sleep and the stresses of his new job, and he just wanted to go back to his husband, say sorry, and let him stroke his hair…

No, he was still mad, obviously, because Hermann was  _ lording it over him  _ and didn’t get how weird it was to offer to go into his mind and change it around because he could, and who was to say that he hadn’t already, except for Hermann, who was mad at him and probably _ bored _ and Newt didn’t really know what qualms Hermann actually had about using his power like that…

He was standing, didn’t remember getting up, and he was face to face with one of the little altars Hermann had constructed in each room, a corner of the spare room’s bedside table with sigils of protection and peace drawn painstakingly, little objects whose purpose Newt didn’t understand. It was all kinds of spooky, wasn’t it?

He took the empty dustbin and neatly filled it with all the trinkets and objects on the altar. Small jars spilled their contents, staining velvet and defacing paper sigils. Newt shrugged, and replaced the dustbin, then lay back down in bed. Before his head hit the pillow he was asleep.

* * *

 

Hermann fiddled with the planchette around his neck and opened a book he’d chosen from a shelf to a random page. He submitted to the notion that whichever page he’d come to would have all the answers he needed, and placed the planchette on the paper, anchoring it with his index finger.

“Is the person who talked to me on the radio still here?” he asked. “Move the planchette if you can hear me.”

The planchette grew uncommonly warm and moved from under his finger. He smiled.

“What should I call you?” he asked. He didn’t expect the spirit or entity to be truthful with their name. They rarely were, and it was good sense, as names were filled with power witches like Hermann could use. The planchette moved to the only given name on the page, ‘Maria.’ “Hello, Maria. You said something was wrong. Can you tell me more about this?”

The planchette pulled his finger to ‘indeed.’ Hermann pondered. It was best to be careful in these situations, not ask leading questions, not invite chaos into a home where it could amplify and take hold. Ghosts, good or bad, loved to please, loved to confirm the seeds of whichever thoughts were already in an interviewer’s mind. Finally, Hermann cleared his throat.

“Is the trouble in the future?”

The planchette jerked to ‘no.’

“Was it something that happened in the past?”

‘No’ again.

“So in the present?”

‘Indeed.’

“Is something wrong with you?”

‘No,’ but this time the planchette wavered.

“Me?”

‘Indeed,’ and then the planchette slid, pointedly, to ‘spouse.’ Hermann blinked.

“With our marriage,” he said, feeling silly that this was the first thing which came to mind.

‘No.’

“With him?”

The planchette wavered over the page indecisively, and its temperature cooled under Hermann’s finger. He frowned. A question which could have been answered yes or no was causing the spirit frustration. That was troubling.

“Maria, if you would still like to talk,” he said softly and hesitated. Karla would think he was mad, to attempt this, but he’d already drifted with a kaiju and Newton Geiszler, equally if not more dangerous prospects. This was the same principle. “I will allow you inside my head. We could have a proper conversation. Would you do that?”

The planchette wavered to ‘indeed,’ and with a deep breath, Hermann closed his eyes, and placed the planchette in the centre of his forehead.

A well-appointed room awaited them, a pot of tea at just the right temperature on the coffee table. Birds sang from outside the windows, slightly ajar. Hermann was aware of the presence sitting in the chair beside him and did not look to his right.

“This is easier, isn’t it?” he said pleasantly, leaning over to pour his visitor a cup. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s wrong.”

Maria shifted out of Hermann’s peripheral vision for a moment and then sighed.

“Hard.”

“Take your time, Maria. There’s no rushing here.”

Hermann took a sip of his tea and felt the gentle breeze, mindful of closing his eyes in true relaxation. The atmosphere was cultivated for skittish spirits to calm down, and though Hermann often came here for a quiet moment in between lectures, he knew he had to be attentive in this particular situation.

“We like him.”

“My husband?”

“Yes. We like him. But he.”

Maria wavered, drank some tea, and Hermann waited.

“He breaks our things.”

“What things?” Hermann prodded and gasped when Maria touched his forehead, soft as a kiss, and he saw altars swept into dustbins, sigils torn. It was an insult.  _ “Oh.  _ I was not aware of this infraction. I apologize on his behalf. You and the others are not angry?”

“We are scared. He is… we like  _ him. _ ”

“I don’t understand. Are you saying when he does these things…”

“Not him.”

“Who, then?”

Maria trembled.

“Something’s wrong. He is hurting. We can’t touch him.”

Hermann thought back, realized he hadn’t seen the spirits of the house nuzzle up like contented cats to Newt lately, they didn’t cling to his shirtsleeves before he left the house, and wondered how he hadn’t noticed before.

“Is something stopping you?”

“Yes,” Maria breathed with great relief. “Something stops us.”

“What should I do?” Hermann asked an open-ended question not directed at Maria.

“Don’t leave us. Him. Please.”

“I won’t leave,” Hermann said, expelling his thoughts of flying to Karla’s house for a vacation, to give Newt space. That course of action had probably been engineered for him, as he could now see there was something else at work apart from a relationship cooling to resentment.

“Promise.”

Hermann paused. Promises with spirits were very open-ended, subject to abuse.

“I will stay as long as it takes to figure out what is wrong,” he finally said. Maria seemed pleased by this and flitted through the open window.

Hermann opened his eyes in his bedroom and blinked hard. He had several more questions, and could not resort to seances for the answers. He would have to be careful.

Newt was being attacked, or possessed, compromised in any case. Hermann wondered if this was through his negligence, if he had chalked too much new behaviour up to the stresses of a new job, and dismissed the guilt before it could unfurl. Self-serving feelings like those were of no use in a situation like this. His husband needed him.

The spare room sounded still. Hermann padded over, cane in his hand while he used the wall for support, and carefully opened the door. Newt was sprawled on the bed, deeply asleep, and head off the pillow, like his strings had been cut. Hermann carefully rearranged him so he wouldn’t wake up hurting. It was clear there was little regard for his body’s well-being on the part of this unwelcome visitor.

The altar on the dresser had been overturned, and Hermann found the offerings and spells in the dustbin. With a little sigh, he put it to rights as much as he could and added an extra spell for protection, and a small apology to the spirits, who seemed hesitant to come in the room.

_ He’s not himself. _

The cooling, the distance must have all been this outside force. Hermann found it easier to believe, more palatable than the alternative. It was no good to feed that intent, even if it were safer. And Hermann had recently acquired a taste for risk-taking.

He heaved himself into the bed with another sigh and lay a hand on Newt’s shoulder. Newt twitched and then relaxed as Hermann’s magic made its course across his skin, the pathways in his tattoos which almost aided spells to their destination. Connected to his husband, at least by skin and by spell, Hermann soon fell asleep as well.

* * *

 

Newt woke up with Hermann beside him in the spare room and felt a softness in his chest which couldn’t be contained by angry resolution. Hermann’s inherent kindness was revealed when he was sleeping when he couldn’t properly regiment, curate his reactions so they were only deciphered by those who knew him. Newt liked to let him sleep, liked when he could protect his rest.

What had they been fighting about last night? It can’t have been very serious, they never  _ really _ fought about anything…

“Hmmm,” Hermann mumbled, and his eyes opened slowly. Something Newt had noticed since they’d started sharing a bed, of which Hermann maybe wasn’t aware, was the second eyelid of sorts, the shimmering green film that Hermann blinked away first thing in the morning. It was magic, for certain, perhaps some kind of protection, though Newt could only postulate.

“Good morning. I didn’t hear you get in,” Newt said.

“You were in quite a deep sleep,” Hermann said, and coughed once, as he did each morning without fail. “I’m sorry I snapped at you last night. Perhaps the problem lies with our mattress.”

This caught Newt off guard. While Hermann would apologize after a fight when he was in the wrong, there was usually a longer buffer time between an argument and making up, a kind of courtship of passive aggression they both relished. They must have really gone at it the other day, Newt wished he could figure out the particulars. But all he could remember was storming out in a fit of deep frustrated anger like when he was a kid and people were talking over his head, Hermann making him feel weak and ordinary and...

“It’s uh, it’s okay!” he said, sitting up. “Gawd, you put up with so much of my bullshit, it’s a wonder you’re not constantly pissed with me.”

“You should know by now I didn’t marry you merely because I can put up with you, Newton,” Hermann said, and even if he sounded kind of like he was scolding, it was pretty tender, especially first thing in the morning.

“I love you too,” Newt grinned, and pecked Hermann on the lips. “When’s your first lecture? Do we have time to get breakfast together? I’ll blow off my appointments and we’ll go somewhere nice.”

“It has been too long,” Hermann agreed and slipped out of bed. “I just need to wash up. Do you want to join me?”

“Not really feeling up to that, pal. See you out there.”

Hermann nodded with that little smile, and Newt felt the knife’s edge of fondness in his heart again, let Hermann kiss him before he left. As he was leaving the spare room, he could see that the altar on the bedside table was fully intact. But why wouldn’t it be, he wondered with a frown.

Maybe Newt  _ had  _ dreamt last night after all, of an altar he defaced. A weird dream to have, not like his usual flights of fancy, plunged into whatever world the kaiju had come from. Because he wouldn’t break anything of Hermann’s, especially not the stuff which displayed his belief, after years of being kind of closeted, embarrassed about his abilities. He had it in him to be mean sometimes, thoughtless and contradictory, but never that, never cruel. He loved the magic like he loved every other part of Hermann, his intellect and his cane and the way he was secretly soppy…

_ Well, hold up. I mean, we  _ **_like_ ** _ Hermann… _

“Love,” Newt corrected absentmindedly, while he buttoned up his shirt. It was a new one, a little pricier than his usual fare, and always buttoned at the cuff, to cover up his tattoos, which were unprofessional after all, upsetting. Didn’t want to upset anyone at the new job. That’s why he stopped wearing his little trans pride button on his lapel, didn’t immediately ( _ obnoxiously)  _ correct people when they saw his ring and assumed he had a wife. “We, I, we love Hermann, not like.”

_ Well, we  _ **_like_ ** _ Hermann fine, but do we trust him? _

“Lighten up, brain,” Newt muttered and perused the selection of ties he had now because he was a professional adult and needed to coordinate, couldn’t have the same stupid skinny black tie every day. “Of course we, I-- dude, what is this ‘we’ stuff? I would trust Hermann with my life. We’ve already done that.  _ I’ve  _ done that. Shit, whatever, we’re married. A bit late to be…”

_ Nothing that can’t be undone. _

“Christ, what is going on?”

Newt’s head popped into several cluster headaches, and he had to sit down. He was vaguely aware he was still tying his tie, tying it too tight, and when he looked in the mirror he wasn’t sure who he was seeing. It was like every thought in his head was being fed to him through a straw and there was a jam at the other end, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe…

Newt let go of his tie, loosened his collar, looked in the mirror and took off his glasses so he could see better. He could hear Hermann down the hall, puttering about. Probably checking the altars and making sure offerings were being taken, not meddled with. Who knew what the offerings were even for? Didn’t they have everything they needed already?

* * *

 

Newton had taken thirty minutes to get dressed and came out of their room looking dazed and disoriented, though he grinned when he saw Hermann.

“Heyyy hot stuff. What’s going on?” he said and drew away when Hermann reached to him, ostensibly to fix his tie clip. “Just tell me it’s askew and I’ll fix it, dude.”

Hermann nodded, pulled away with a carefully schooled expression. Whatever was sharing Newton’s body with him was at least marginally aware that Hermann’s power could transmit through touch. Newt lately dodged any contact, whether he was conscious of it or not.

They walked out of the house, and Newt paused on the front step.

“Hermann?”

He was planted in that position, his eyes widening. He looked scared, and Hermann reached for him, resting his hand on the other’s shoulder, mouthing a spell. Newt sighed, leaned into his hand heavily, and Hermann kissed his forehead. It was blazing hot like he was fighting a fever, though he wasn’t sweating.

“What is it, dearest?”  _ Tell me you need my help, tell me what I can do. _

“I think I need a doctor,” Newt whispered, blinking hard. “I think…  _ Hermann _ … I’m… Do you want to drive?”

And now he was back to the carefree Newt that must have been somewhat affected. A clever facsimile, good enough for Hermann to accept temporarily, but now he could see the spirits which avoided Newt and the telegraphed comfort, the grin that was a little too wide.

“Of course. Do you know where you’d like to go?”

“Someplace with eggs.”

“They all have eggs. We have eggs at home.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

Hermann bit his tongue to keep the obvious retort. While he was still trying to figure out what or who he was dealing with, it was better to starve the fire of disagreement than feeding it.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said blandly. “So, which eggs do you prefer?”

Newt blinked, squinted, and Hermann realized he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He filed this detail away for further examination, the Newtish part of his mind freaking out because that could be a physiological response to some kind of supernatural intervention,  _ dude _ , surreal.

They drove in silence. Newt didn’t fiddle with the radio, or suddenly remember a million details he was at the brink of recalling during an earlier conversation. Instead, his head was on his hand, supported by the inside of the car door. Hermann was glad he was driving; he was fairly sure something caused Newt to lapse, or lose attention more than usual. Or perhaps he was focusing with all his might on something internal, something Hermann couldn’t see him fight. Hermann hoped he was fighting.

An impulse gripped Hermann, and he carefully took a detour, away from the city centre and towards the forest.

When they had moved here, Hermann had made himself a well of power, let Newt shovel it for him while he knelt as much as he could in overturned earth, closed his eyes, and spoke in a language he didn’t know, letting magic draw into him from the land like he were a seed. It was the biggest step forward Hermann had done to cement his practice since before the war, and his husband had been there to share it with him. There was no better place to try and shake this sinister influence.

“Hmmm? Where are we?” Newt suddenly asked, just as Hermann started feeling the radius of influence from the well in the woods. He parked on the country road leading to the trail and glanced over again. Newt was looking out the window, vague concern on his face. “Did I forget my glasses? Am I dreaming?”

“You’re not dreaming,” Hermann said. “Newton, do you trust me?”

Newt looked worried.

“I think I broke your things, Hermann, I’m  _ sorry _ . I don’t know why,” he said, winced, and rubbed his forehead. “There’s something wrong.”

“It’s all right. I know,” Hermann promised. “I don’t want to hurt you, love. You understand I would never try to hurt you.”

“I, we,  _ I  _ don’t want to either, I, we, I,  _ fuck.” _

“I’m going to bring you to the well,” Hermann said. “Do you remember this place, darling?”

“Yes.”

It seemed to take a long effort for Newt to talk, and his hands were clenched tightly against his thighs.

“I’m going to bring you to the well,” Hermann repeated and took the keys out of the ignition. “I’m going to hold your hand the whole time.”

“You’re not cursing me.”

“No.”

“You’re not… tired of me.” Newt’s voice was smaller this time, and Hermann shook his head.

“ _ No.  _ I don’t know what nonsense you’ve been fed, Newt, but I could never tire of you.”

“Okay. What are we doing here?”

“We’re going to the well,” Hermann said, and Newt nodded, looking confused.

“Okay.”

Newt let Hermann pull him down the trail to the well, hand trembling in Hermann’s. The feeling of magic drew deeper as they walked further down the trail, and Hermann resisted the urge to look back, to comfort, an Orphic superstition but a potent one nonetheless. He didn’t know what tormented Newt, but it would surely try to shake him as well, and the contact they had was sending vital magic to Newt, couldn’t be broken even in a second of fear.

The well was covered in a vigorous carpet of green moss, to Hermann’s pleasure. A robin with a bright red chest watched curiously while Hermann brought Newt into it, letting them both use the cane as leverage. Spirits still kept their distance, simultaneously repulsed and fascinated by Newt.

“What now?” Newt asked, and Hermann looked at him since for the first time since they left the car. He was sweating, but he had on a terrible smile, and his eyes were a new but viscerally familiar shade of blue.  _ Precursors. _ Why hadn’t it occurred to him before? “What now,  _ witch _ ?”

“I suppose I ask you to leave now,” Hermann said, and opened his battered grimoire to ‘What to do with Unwanted Guests.’ “You’ve far outstayed your welcome, and impugned even the most gracious rules of hospitality.”

“He’s not the only one we have under our control. Don’t you want to hear about all the others?”

“I don’t particularly care about all the others. Just that one.”

It was a lie, but Hermann would not be baited. He was clever, and Newton was brilliant; they could surely save the world again. There was no benefit to prolonging this parasitic contact. He began the ritual and braced Newton with his free arm. He could feel the Precursors leave, it was like a weight coming off both of them. He felt Newt return his embrace, hold him as tight as he could, and he knew it was over.

They both came out the other end, bruised but hearts beating, covered in moss and fertile earth. Newt was crying and, were it not for the well inundating him with magic, Hermann might have been as well, from pure exhaustion, a pure relief. But he was more powerful than he’d been in years, and there was time to cry later.

“Welcome back,” he said, petting Newt’s hair fondly. “I missed you.”

“F-fuck,” Newton said, shaking muddy fingers tugging at his tie. “God, they wanted me to leave you, to  _ hurt  _ you. They just filled me with stupid, machismo bullshit and I couldn’t get out, Hermann.”

“You’re out now,” Hermann said, helped Newton with his tie, pausing when he saw the ligature bruises. “Did they hurt you?”

“Only when I thought too hard, heh.”

Newt was ashen, a flurry of nervous motion and he couldn’t look at Hermann, kept blinking and looking down and looking back up. Hermann stilled him with a hand to his face.

“We’ll stay here as long as you need to.”

“Keep holding me?”

“No question.”

Newt seemed reluctant even to leave the forest, once his legs started working.

“How do you know they won’t come back?” he asked in a subdued voice.

“I closed that door,” Hermann promised. “It is locked and they can’t open it. We’re going to go home, and you’ll be safer there.”

“What about work?”

“Bugger work, darling. You’re more important.”

Newt shut his eyes, as though he was trying to remember.

“There’s something about work,” he said. “Something they did. I can’t…”

“We’ll get to the bottom of it. Later. Not today. Are you ready to go home?”

_ “Yeah,”  _ Newt sighed, and leaned against Hermann before they went to the car.

Hermann said a little spell which made traffic lights behave in their favour, and soon they were back to the house. Newt let Hermann unbutton his shirt and with a little difficulty, he pulled off his binder with a deep breath like a sob. Bruises of varying age scattered across his neck and obscured by tattoos further down required Hermann’s attention.

“Is anything broken?”

“They always stopped short of breaking,” Newt said with a shake of his head, then winced. “Or they tried. I might have cracked a rib.”

“And they made you  _ bind _ ?”

“Please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry at you.”

“I know, I just,” Newt sighed when Hermann put his hand over his chest to find the bone which needed knitting. “God, thank you.”

They had a small freezer with ice packs in their room, a luxury Newt had insisted on when he realized how much Hermann got up to walk to the kitchen in the middle of the night to administer to late night pain. Hermann handed one to Newt.

“There will still be swelling. Your body doesn’t know it’s healed, so it carries on rather like it isn’t for a few days. Do you want something for the pain?”

Newton nodded, and Hermann started to go to the washroom for painkillers when Newt grabbed his wrist.

“I like the spell better. Doesn’t make me loopy.”

Hermann smiled.

“All right.”

He lay Newt down and made three quick movements before kissing Newt on the forehead. Newt shivered, and his heavy eyes closed for the first time since they left the forest. Hermann lay down with him, suddenly feeling the exertions of the day.

“Are you tired, love?”

“Yeah, really tired.”

Spirits were creeping into the room, tentatively curling onto the bed. Hermann smiled.

“The ghosts knew something was wrong. They were worried about you.”

“Are they here?” Newt asked, half-asleep.

“Yes.”

“That’s  _ awesome _ .”

“It’s pretty awesome,” Hermann agreed and lowered the bedroom’s lights. They fell asleep together in the dimly lit room, attended by spirits.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to feel like one of those unsettling 1940's Hitchcock thrillers. But with ghosts! and aliens! I reckon Witchy Hermann-verse will never get this harrowing, and certainly not get into Uprising territory ever again. I just figured the Precursors would attempt to isolate Newt/ruin a marriage, and so this popped on out.
> 
> The seance stuff is based on what I do in part, and I've discovered it has a genetic link to Sortes Virgilianae, a divining method from Roman times. Feel free to hit me up about other weird and wonderful practices at frawgkid.tumblr.com
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH TO RALEIGH @heyhosers.tumblr.com for betaing!!!


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